


Wanderlust Wedding

by Fire_Bear



Series: Kilts [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (if this counts as that), Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Kilts, Kinks, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of homophobia, Semi-Public Sex, Sexy Sporrans, kilt kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's father is getting remarried and, despite his anger at the man, Arthur is able to take Alfred with him. It's a Scottish wedding so, once again, they wear their kilts - which is handy when they get some alone time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanderlust Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeplerfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeplerfer/gifts).



> I'm increasing the number of shifty tags I'm tagging my stories with...

“This is ridiculous. Look at them!”

“Artie...? They look happy enough. What're ya talking about?”

“They _look happy_!” Arthur snapped, turning his glare on his boyfriend. “ _That's_ the problem!”

Sighing, Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist, pulling him closer so he could place his chin on Arthur's shoulder. “C'mon, Art. It's a wedding. You gotta be happy.”

“I'll be happy when I stick a knife in that bastard's eye,” Arthur growled, ignoring Alfred's cuddles. “Might kick Peter while I'm at it.”

“Artie!” Alfred cried, right into Arthur's ear. The English student flinched but deflated.

“Sorry. I'm sorry. I just-” He leaned into Alfred who pulled him even closer. Arthur placed his hands on Alfred's arm, rubbing his thumbs there comfortingly. “I can't believe he did this. And... Just- How selfish can he be?!”

“I get it,” Alfred mumbled. “But you can't blame Peter for this.”

Snorting, Arthur shook his head. “I'm not. But he's a little brat. You know, while you were in the bathroom, he was going around innocently asking who everyone was. I told him I was his brother – and he kicked me in the shins and ran away! Little prick!”

He glared across the room where several middle-aged women were cooing over his recently discovered younger brother. Younger half-brother. Younger, illegitimate half-brother. His gaze swept the hotel's function room, over the gathered guests, the pristine white silk decorations tied to the chairs, to his father, standing tall in a black kilt with his red hair slicked back. He was beaming, watching his youngest son, completely unaware of Arthur's hatred. 

This was entirely all  _his_ fault.

Apparently, Arthur and Andrew's father had been having an affair which had lasted eleven whole years. When the woman in question had lost her job due to a school closure and then gained one in Aberdeen, she had been ready to move with her beloved son, never to see Patrick again. Instead, Patrick had filed for divorce and followed her up there, leaving Arthur's mother devastated.

Now they were getting married and Patrick Kirkland insisted on his older sons being there.

Arthur was livid – more so since he and Alfred, despite only dating for half a year, had planned to go to America with his boyfriend to celebrate their birthday. Even if he hadn't met Alfred, he would have been going abroad at this time and his father had been made aware of that. It was almost as if Patrick had deliberately picked the 4 th of July, enraging Arthur further.

But that definitely wasn't the worst of it.

“Ye'd better stop snuggling like that, boyo,” came Andrew's voice from behind them. “Dad'll see.”

Alfred straightened, pulling away from Arthur (and leaving him mourning the loss of comfort), and they both turned to the Scot. He was dressed much the same as their father, though his kilt was of Auld Scotland tartan. Arthur was wearing an identical outfit, the green and grey tartan far better than the plain, black kilt their father wore. Seeing as Arthur had been forced to wear a kilt, Alfred was also wearing his Inverness tartan – this time with a suit jacket, though he was obviously uncomfortable in the stiff clothing.

“As if I care about that,” Arthur snorted. He was only there for Andrew, for moral support.

Andrew tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Aye. I suppose that's better fer me.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Alfred, grinning at Andrew. “I heard ya were bringing a plus one. Where is he?”

“ _Shush_ !” Andrew hissed, eyes wide and wild. Arthur and Alfred glanced at each other, confused. “Keep it doon. Dad thinks I'm bringing a girl and he's coming over!”

Glancing over his shoulder, Arthur saw that his dad was indeed coming down the aisle, though he had been stopped by a friend before he reached them. He raised an eyebrow when he looked back to Andrew. “Why does he think whoever you're bringing is a girl?”

“I keep referring t'im as 'they'.”

“Why? Just because he's a homophobe, doesn't mean you need to hide it.”

Funnily enough, Arthur had told his parents years ago that he was gay. Both his mother and his father seemed to accept that. Then, when Arthur was RSVPing for the wedding after Alfred, angel that he was, had changed his plans so he could go home early and return in time for it, he had discovered how Patrick Kirkland truly felt. He had sneered when Arthur had told him about Alfred and the look of disgust on his face had shocked Arthur. And so his hatred for the man grew.

The fact that Andrew was having to hide his own 'totally-not-a' boyfriend was just the icing on the crappy cake that the day was turning into.

He rather hoped the actual cake was horrible, too.

“Aye, well... I'd rather just get through this day without any hassle. Then we can all go back t'Glasgow and not have to worry about him for a few months.”

“Tsk. Why should we bend over backwards for scu- for someone like him!”

If possible, Andrew's face became more serious. “Arthur. Stop. Just... forget we're here for  _him_ and have fun at a party instead. There'll be a ceilidh – and I know how much you liked the last one.” Andrew winked at him.

Red-faced, Arthur smacked his brother on the arm. “Shut it!”

Beside him, Alfred laughed. “Aw, c'mon Artie. Lighten up. We can have fun. Later.” He drew out the word and wiggled his eyebrows. Arthur scowled at him and was about to respond when someone interrupted them.

“Andrew, mon cher. I am ready.”

They all turned to face a blond man, his hair tied back in a short ponytail with a blue ribbon. His eyes were a lighter blue that Alfred's and appraised the student couple intently. There was some 'fashionable' stubble on his chin which made Arthur think of the time Andrew lost his razor and didn't bother buying a new one. Glancing at his outfit, Arthur noted that he wore a blue suit jacket which the ribbon matched and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top – and a pair of blue-and-white tartan trousers, the same shade as the rest of the ensemble.

Arthur almost blew a gasket.

“Hang on!” he snapped, volume increasing. “Why is  _he_ allowed to wear normal clothes and we get stuck with this?!” He grabbed part of his kilt and flapped it, secure in the knowledge that no-one would see anything untoward: he had made sure to wear underwear this time.

“'Cause ye're half Scottish,” Andrew replied, shrugging a shoulder. He hadn't taken his eyes from the man, smiling fondly.

“Urgh! Don't remind me!”

“What's that supposed t'mean!”

“Hi!” said Alfred, suddenly, loud enough to be heard over Arthur and Andrew's bickering. “I'm Alfred, Artie's boyfriend. You're Andy's plus one, huh?”

“Oui,” the man answered, holding out a hand. Alfred shook it. “Enchanté. Je m'appelle Francis.”

“Ah, cool,” Alfred answered, looking a little uncomfortable. Arthur knew full well that Alfred knew enough Spanish to get by but no French. Two of those sentences were the limits of his knowledge.

Francis turned to Arthur. “Bonjour.  Vous devez être le frère d'Andrew. ” He held out his hand and Arthur wrinkled his nose as he took it. 

“Could you speak in English, please?” He nodded at Alfred. “Some of us don't know French. But, yes, I'm  _one_ of his brothers. The other one's over there – the brat stealing all the women's attention.” Jerking his head in Peter's direction, he turned to make sure he was still where he thought he was and saw his father was almost upon them. “Bollocks,” he muttered.

“Andrew!” Patrick cried, his Irish twang glaringly obvious. Arthur's eyes narrowed but he felt Alfred take his hand and squeeze. Squeezing back, he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “There you are. Come on. You're up front.” His eyes flickered to Francis and he blinked in surprise. “Who's this?”

“Enchanté,” Francis said, reaching forward to shake Patrick's hand, pleasant smile still on his face. “I am Francis Bonnefoy. It's nice to finally meet Andrew's family.”

Patrick frowned, obviously trying to piece things together. “You're his plus one?”

“Aye,” Andrew said, jaw set.

It seemed that Patrick was about to say something, perhaps start an argument. Then someone hurried up to him and told him they'd be starting in five minutes. So, instead of admonishing his son, he turned back to him. “You'll be standing beside me, son, so go and get up there. I'm sure Francis can... find a seat somewhere.”

Without acknowledging Arthur, he turned and rushed back to his spot. Arthur almost growled after him. After a quick grimace of apology at Francis, Andrew walked off. Francis looked over at the two blonds left behind and raised his eyebrows. “ Votre père est une bite ,” he said.

“Tell me about it,” Arthur murmured. He and Alfred watched Francis stalk off to find a seat, Patrick watching him with a frown. Arthur clenched his fists.

“Ow! Honey! You're still holding my hand...”

Sheepishly, Arthur let go. “I'm sorry. I just wish...” He took a deep breath and sighed. “I wish we were back in the other hotel.”

That was something else Arthur was pissed off about. After agreeing to come, they had discovered that the hotel (in which the wedding and reception were being held) was completely full. They had had to book and pay for their own room in a hotel a few miles away whereas Andrew had gotten a room with one bed, paid for by Patrick. It rankled and Arthur wished he could shout at his father all day. But his bride was sweet - despite her obliviousness and the fact she was still marrying the bastard - and it wasn't fair to her. Besides, then he'd look like the bad guy and he wanted people to know how despicable his dad really was.

Suddenly, Arthur was wrenched from his fuming by Alfred's skilful fingers which were massaging at his shoulders. “Come on, Artie. Calm down. Relax. We don't actually need to talk to your dad today. You're way too tense.” Arthur obeyed, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss. Then he felt Alfred's breath on his neck and he knew before Alfred did it that he was about to whisper something sensual into his ear. He always did when Arthur was relaxed and unawares, sometimes in the most awkward of places or situations. Alfred blew into his ear for his attention before saying, “We'll have fun like the last time we were wearing these once the ceremony's over.”

“R-Right,” gasped Arthur, eyes shooting open as he felt his blood rush south. Fighting it, he straightened from where he had slumped against Alfred and straightened himself out, trying not to catch his boyfriend's eye. “Let's get a seat.”

* * *

 

The ceilidh for the reception was supposed to be the fun bit. However, the dinner beforehand was sucking the soul out of Arthur and he wasn't sure he'd last. Especially since he had to sit at the same table as his father. As they ate, he could hear snide comment after snide comment. Each time his eyes met Patrick's his blood boiled. It must have been worse for Andrew as he sat closer with Francis by his side. Neither of them were smiling much and Francis didn't seem to want to say anything in case it made things worse.

Everything was making Arthur feel worse and worse and, eventually, after dessert, he excused himself and hurried off. Once he had located the bathroom, he went in and stood before the sinks, leaning on them as he glared at his reflection. What he wouldn't give to have a different dad, to have someone like Alfred's parents who seemed to be lovely, open-minded people, from what he had seen of them over Skype.

Sighing, he reached out to turn on the tap and splash some water on his face when the door was thrown open. It banged against the wall and he jumped, turning to see what the commotion was. There stood Alfred, looking relieved. “Thank God,” he said, sighing. “I thought you'd left.”

“Why would I leave without you, idiot?”

For a second, Alfred looked hurt and Arthur's expression changed to one of dismay. Obviously that had come out a bit too harsh. Before he could apologise, Alfred hurried over, letting the door swing shut, and scooped Arthur up into a hug. “I know your dad's done a lot of things you're mad at but there's something else bothering you, isn't there?”

Arthur didn't know whether to laugh or cry: Alfred was just too perfect. “I... It's nothing, really. It's stupid. Just...”

“Nuh uh. I ain't gonna forget it. What's up, sweetie?”

Sighing, Arthur hugged Alfred tighter. “I thought I knew who I was. But how can I when my dad's a cheat, when I've been lied to all this time?”

“Artie, nothing he's done has any-”

“No! No, you don't-!” Arthur wriggled from Alfred's grasp and stepped back so he could look him in the eye. “I mean, Dad remarried pretty quickly after Andy's mum died. Maybe I'm an illegitimate kid, too. A bastard. That's- My mum and dad could  _both_ have been lying to me and-”

“Woah, woah!” cried Alfred, grabbing Arthur by his arms. “Listen. It doesn't matter what your parents have done. You're you and you're all that matters. To me. I mean. Er...” Alfred trailed off, blushing now.

Feeling his own blush creeping upon him, Arthur slowly smiled, laughing a little. “Honestly,” he whispered, shaking his head.

Alfred laughed, rather loudly. “Besides,” he added, looking beautiful as he grinned at Arthur, “I think you're getting worked up over nothing – didntcha say they married two years after that? Dontcha think Andy woulda said something?”

“I... I suppose,” said Arthur. Thinking about it, he  _was_ being rather stupid. He had just been so hurt and angry after the revelation of having secret family members that he supposed he'd turned that on himself, seeing as he couldn't take it out on anyone else. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “All right. Okay. I think I can go back now.”

“Aw, you wanna go back _now_?” Alfred asked, pouting slightly.

Arthur stilled, staring at him: he had a bad feeling about this. Every time the pout came out, something mildly embarrassing or entirely sexual occurred. Remembering the last time they had worn kilts, Arthur's eyes flickered down to the general area of Alfred's sporran, a suspicion creeping up on him. “Wait... Are you...?”

“Yup. Flying free.”

“Oh, my God...” Arthur breathed, heat rising in his cheeks again. He glanced around the bathroom, taking it in now. There were two cubicles squashed into the corner, a couple of urinals and the counter where the sinks were. All of them were sparklingly clean. Glancing at the door, he noted that there was no lock. “We can't do it in here. Can't you wait till we get back to our hotel?”

“No way,” said Alfred, stepping closer and pulling Arthur towards him. Arthur stumbled and fell into Alfred's muscled chest, his resistance beginning to crumble. “I want to cheer you up. What better way than fucking you senseless so you can go back and act all smug around your dad?”

At that point, Arthur wasn't sure if Alfred was trying to seduce or upset him. He decided to settle on ignoring the second half of his sentence. “If we're doing this, we need to get into the cubicle – I don't want anyone catching us.”

“Fine by me.”

“And no fucking Nessie comments.”

“Aww!” Alfred pouted again but, seeing the frown on Arthur's face, promptly laughed and led him to the cubicle furthest from the door. He pulled him in and set Arthur on the lid before he locked the door and turned back to him, bending double to give Arthur a kiss.

It was a tight fit in there but Arthur figured he could always ride Alfred, if that would help. Or – and a shiver went down his spine as he thought about it – Alfred could pick him up, slam him against the door and fuck him that way. Alfred obviously felt the shudder run through Arthur because he laughed into the kiss and pulled away.

“What're ya thinking about?”

“You using those strong arms of yours and fucking me against the door,” Arthur casually replied. “What else?”

“Mm, sounds good. Though I was kinda hoping you'd ride me. I love being able to see you move so gracefully.”

Arthur snorted with amusement. “We can do that later. On a bed. In the meantime...” He reached out and slid his hand up Alfred's kilt. Letting his fingers trail up Alfred's inner thigh, he grinned as he heard his boyfriend's sigh. A thought occurred to him which made him pause at Alfred's cock, his fingertips brushing against the head so lightly that Alfred sucked in a breath. “Hey, darling...?” he whispered, moving his fingers lightly along Alfred's length. “Did you bring what we need?”

“Huh?” Alfred murmured, eyes closed and head lolled back as he enjoyed Arthur's fingers lightly moving up and down. Then the question registered and he looked down at Arthur, grinning. “Of course! Sporrans are great! They hold all kindsa stuff.” Without further ado, he unzipped the sporran and riffled around in it, pulling out the little square package of a condom. He handed it to Arthur who merely stared back, lifting an eyebrow.

“And the rest?”

“Huh? Oh.” Alfred resumed his search. After a few seconds, he stopped, eyes flickering worriedly to Arthur's and away again. Then he went back to looking, getting a bit more frantic as the seconds dragged on.

“Alfred...” said Arthur, growing suspicious.

“Haha, hang on,” Alfred told him, beginning to pull out random bits and pieces: Arthur saw a piece of string, his room key, his wallet, a packet of paper tissues, his spare glasses, the tiny love heart ornaments that had been their favours and a packet of mints. However, the item both of them wanted didn't make it out of the depths of the bag. “Er,” said Alfred, not looking at Arthur.

He sighed. “You forgot the lube? Really?” Alfred reluctantly nodded. “Oh, you dope!” Arthur sighed.

“I, er... I think I left it on the bedside table.”

“You idiot.” Arthur handed him back the condom. “Well, we're not going to be having sex in here, then.”

“If we used the soap, we could do what we did that last time.” Alfred raised his eyebrow expectantly, confident grin returning to his face.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur thought about their options. The best one, in his opinion, was just stopping and picking this up when they got back to their room. After all, he wasn't that hard and he was sure he could last. He eyed Alfred's crotch, wondering... Without warning his boyfriend, Arthur stuck his hand back up the kilt. Above him, he heard Alfred gasp even before his fingers brushed him.

Alfred was _really_ hard. Which was ridiculous – they'd barely done anything! Or Arthur had found a particular kink Alfred had. Interesting...

Absent-mindedly, Arthur took hold of Alfred and began to stroke. As Alfred gasped and partially collapsed against the door, Arthur returned to thinking through their options. It was true they could jerk each other off again but that didn't seem to be much fun, in Arthur's opinion. Besides, going out to the sinks seemed too troublesome.

However... today was Alfred's birthday. He had already given him a physical present and Arthur was waiting till they got back to their room for the 'night-time present' but, perhaps, a little extra present would be a good idea. A smirk spread across his face and he glanced up at his boyfriend's flushed face – Alfred's eyes were closed in bliss.

Letting Alfred go – to the American's protests – he stood up. Alfred looked at him quizzically, his eyes darkened with lust. “Sit down,” Arthur ordered, trying to sound as seductive as possible, “and I'll give you another present. You'll love it. I mean, you did  _like_ those presents, yes?”

“What-? Of course!” Alfred declared. “And I told you you didn't needta get me so much.”

“That was to make up for having to spend your birthday in this dreary place. So now I need to give you a better one.” Arthur paused before tilting his head a little. “Well. You'll get a better one back in our room but just now...” He grabbed Alfred's shoulders and spun them around so they had changed places. Pushing Alfred down, he stood before him, hands on hips. “Now, you're going to get a little sneak peek.”

“Huh?” said Alfred, intelligently.

Rolling his eyes at how slow his boyfriend was being, Arthur knelt before him. Apparently that was all that was needed to clue Alfred in as, when Arthur glanced up at him, he saw Alfred watching him with an excited grin. Arthur pushed Alfred's muscular, smooth legs apart and shuffled forwards until he was between them. He lifted the kilt and ducked under it, letting it rest on his head. Above him, he felt Alfred shift the sporran to the side so he wasn't balancing that as well. Arthur silently thanked him, glad Alfred was so considerate.

Once more, Arthur reached out and pumped Alfred's erection. Alfred moaned loudly above him and he grimaced. “Shush!” he hissed up at him. “Someone could come in” - another low groan - “so you've got to be quiet or I'll leave you to it.”

“O-Okay,” Alfred panted. “But, God, not being able to see what you're doing...”

When it became clear Alfred wasn't going to be elaborating any time soon, Arthur sighed against Alfred's dick, grinning at the shaking of Alfred's legs beside him. He continued stroking for a while, considering how to start. Finally, he opted to lean in and lick the underside, from base to tip. A gasp came from Alfred.

Delighted at the response, Arthur continued slowly licking up his length, eventually twisting his tongue to wrap around the shaft as he pulled it back up. Muffled groans continued to fall from Alfred's lips as he did so. After a few moments of that, Arthur flicked his tongue against the tip before giving it a gentle kiss. He let his lips rest there for a second then pushed them around it, slowly taking Alfred into his mouth. The noise above increased in frequency, now muffled.

It felt like it took an eternity for Arthur to finally reach the base, his nose buried in the hairs there. He gave himself a moment to take in a breath – and moaned at the wonderful musky scent. Down below, he felt his own member twitch, hardening. Arthur wanted so badly to touch himself for a second before he resolutely told himself not to: this was Alfred's treat, not his.

Returning his attention to Alfred, Arthur moaned once more just to feel Alfred shudder and then sucked hard. A long, low groan fell from Alfred's lips and Arthur could tell he'd stopped trying to stifle them. He gave Alfred's shin a quick smack and the man sighed. Arthur could only hope he got the message.

Patient as always, Arthur slowly drew his head back, pressing his lips around his teeth to stop them scraping along Alfred's dick. Reaching the tip, he swirled his tongue around it before slowly moving forward. He continued this, occasionally sucking hard, sometimes moaning. Alfred's legs were continuously shaking by the point Arthur decided to start pressing his tongue against the cock as he moved, twisting around the shaft every so often. Alfred began panting.

Just as he was considering upping the pace or pulling away for a few oh-too-long seconds, the door to the bathroom was slammed open. Arthur jerked backwards from the base of Alfred's prick to the tip, his lips resting there as he froze. His own dick swelled even more at the thought they could be caught by the newcomer, rubbing at his boxers – he was beginning to wish he hadn't worn them. Instead of dwelling on it, he bobbed his head again, this time sliding down Alfred's length quicker than before.

“Arthur?! Ye in 'ere?!” his brother yelled. The thought of the person catching them being someone he knew aroused Arthur even more and he moaned around Alfred. It seemed Andrew heard him for he called again. “Arthur? You okay?”

The man in question poked Alfred's shin, continuing with his work. With a sharp intake of breath, Alfred responded to Andrew. “I-It's Alfred. And I'm alone.” Arthur winced at Alfred's high voice.

“Huh. Have ye seen him, then?”

“Nah. Absolutely  _no idea_ where he could be,” Alfred said, his voice trembling. Feeling Alfred was going to give the game away, Arthur lightly scraped his teeth against Alfred in punishment. He heard a muffled “Mmph!” and considered it mission accomplished.

“All right. If ye see 'im, tell 'im Dad wants 'im there fer the cutting o' the cake an' we're doing that soon.”

“'Kay!” Alfred replied, voice small.

There was a pause while Arthur continued his ministrations. “You okay in there, Alfred?” asked Andrew. Arthur could hear his puzzlement.

“N-Nah. Just... Musta ate something that didn't agree with me.”

Amused, Arthur pulled back to the tip before jerking forward to plunge Alfred's dick down his throat, pretending Alfred was thrusting into him. Alfred gave an involuntary cry, bending over in surprise. Arthur presumed he was about to do the moving himself: instead, Alfred pulled up the kilt and grabbed at Arthur's hair, threading his fingers through it and clinging to him. For the first time in minutes, they looked into each other's eyes, Alfred's eyes a much darker blue than before, pupils dilated. The sight made Arthur even harder and he moaned again.

“Christ,” Andrew said from the door. “If I can find Arthur, I'll send him in. 'Kay?”

“'K-Kay,” Alfred breathed, loud enough for Andrew to hear and acknowledge him before hurrying out. Once the door clicked shut, Alfred allowed himself to pant. “ _Fuck_ , Artie. You're getting kinkier by each passing day.

Arthur pulled off Alfred with a pop, giving it a long look as he noticed how wet it was. “It's all your fault,” he told Alfred, marvelling at it. That could be inside him right now... No. No, not without lube. Wait for it. Returning his gaze to Alfred, he smiled wickedly. “Are you enjoying your present?”

“Fuck, yes,” Alfred informed him. He tugged on Arthur's hair; the Englishman let out a moan at that. “Get back to it.”

“A please would be nice,” Arthur said, letting a finger circle the tip.

With another hiss of breath, Alfred relented. “ _Please_ .”

Instantly, Arthur latched onto him again, sucking and licking his way up and down. Apparently, Alfred was getting closer to his climax as he was beginning to buck his hips, the slight movements burying him further in Arthur's mouth. For himself, Arthur didn't mind but he was determined to go at his own pace. So, to stop him from moving so much, he laid a firm hand on Alfred's hip. With his other, he trailed his fingers around one of Alfred's balls and then grabbed it.

No sense in not torturing his boyfriend a little when he was in control.

Alfred twitched and groaned. His fingers tightened in Arthur's hair and he revelled in the slight sting. Bobbing his head faster and faster, Arthur tried to take him into the back of his throat. Again, Alfred twitched, shifting just so and hitting the intended target. Arthur swallowed around him and Alfred cried out. With a quick smack at Alfred's shin, Arthur massaged Alfred's ball before using his other hand so he was soon squeezing at both of them.

“Ar-!” Alfred shouted. That was all the warning Arthur got as Alfred came down his throat. As calmly as possible, he swallowed down the cum, pulling back a little so he didn't gag. By the time he let go of Alfred completely, he had swallowed most of it. Some of it escaped out the corner of his mouth and he could feel a mixture of it and his saliva dribbling down his chin. He could almost imagine how aroused he looked at the moment: he was as hard as Alfred had been at the beginning of this.

Panting, Alfred put effort into focussing on Arthur who merely watched him, too turned on to do much beyond sitting and waiting for Alfred to come down from his high. Hopefully he could help Arthur out. When he finally seemed able to see Arthur, Alfred reached out and scooped up the remnants of their fun on a finger. Arthur gripped his wrist and sucked it off his finger, causing Alfred's breath to catch.

And, at that point, the door swung open once again. Both of them froze as they heard the pitter-patter of feet hurrying past the urinals and sinks. Beside them, the door to the only other cubical was opened, creaking, before it was shut and the dull noise of the bolt being slid across followed.

Looking a little panicked, Alfred stood and helped Arthur to his feet. The English student restrained his groan of pain as his legs stretched out from their cramped conditions. They faced each other and Alfred glanced down, obviously asking if Arthur wanted him to help. But Arthur had only just realised how long they had been there. What would people say when they realised both he and Alfred were missing from the reception?

Leaning up, Arthur whispered into Alfred's ear. “Go. I'll take care of this.”

“But...” Alfred breathed.

“Shush, go. That could be Peter, Christ!”

“Ah. 'Kay. Right.” Giving Arthur an apologetic and upset look, Alfred quickly squeezed past him and unlocked the door.

Arthur sat down once he had closed it behind his boyfriend – but, as the toilet beside him was flushed, he realised that he couldn't lock the door without whoever it was noticing... And, unfortunately, the door was swinging back open. Quickly, he perched on the toilet lid and braced his feet, slightly apart, against the door. Next to him, the cubicle door was unlocked. His erection throbbed and, biting his lip slightly, he reached under his kilt and pulled the front of his boxers down so he could grip himself. He hurriedly stifled a moan at the touch and slowly began to stroke himself.

Beyond the door, he heard Alfred speak. “Oh! Hey, little dude!”

“Who're you?” came Peter's voice.

“I'm Artie's boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Peter seemed confused.

There was a short pause before Alfred spoke again. “Yeah. C'mon. Let's go talk somewhere else.” Footsteps moved off and Arthur relaxed a little. Unfortunately, his slight movement made the door rattle a little.

“What was that?” Peter asked.

“Probably the door finished swinging open.”

“Oh.”

Arthur heard them leave, the other door swinging closed with a click. He let out a sharp gasp, running a thumb over his slit as he do so, pre-cum coating his fingers. Using it, he began to pump himself faster, sliding onto the floor as he did so. Ignoring the door which had begun to swing open again, he continued, leaning his head against the toilet pan. He began to pant, feeling himself heat up and the pressure build in his stomach. His kilt shifted with each movement of his hand which made him groan.

Faster and faster he went, even going so far as to twist his hand. Over and over and over again. It felt like it took forever until, with a loud cry, he came. He let his dirty hand flop to the side and sat quite still, breathing heavily as he waited for the blood to stop thundering around his body.

But he couldn't stay there, sated and exhausted, forever. Pulling himself to his feet, Arthur wiped his hand with the toilet paper provided. After he had flushed that away, he pulled up his boxers and went to the sink to wash the rest of his cum away.

He had gotten most of it away and was in the process of rubbing liquid soap over his hands when the bathroom door opened once again. Glancing over, he found Francis blinking at him. “Ah,” said the Frenchman. “There you are. Andrew's getting worried.”

Just as he was about to tell him that he knew and he'd get there soon, he realised that he couldn't admit to knowing about his brother's search. After all, as far as Andrew knew, he hadn't seen him and neither had Alfred. Unless Alfred had told Andy that he was only now in the toilet. So what was he supposed to respond with? His heart began to beat fast again, adrenaline pumping through him. Was he about to be caught out?

“Er... Why?” Gathering himself, Arthur added. “Does he think I've gone to find something to kill Dad with or something?”

“I believe that was the general consensus.” Francis peered at him suspiciously. “You haven't, have you? I'd rather like to relieve myself in peace.”

“Of course I haven't. I went for a walk to clear my head.”

Running his eyes up and down Arthur's body, Francis raised his eyebrows. “I see.”

There was a silence as Arthur dried his hands with the paper towels. Francis didn't move further in, staying near the door. Eventually, Arthur had run out of things to do and he had to face Francis, making sure not to look him in the eyes. “Well. If you'll excuse me...”

As he passed Francis by, he spoke. “Kilts are very handy things, aren't they?”

Arthur decided not to respond, hurrying out of the door and hoping no-one could see his red face...

**Author's Note:**

> I may have tried too hard to give Arthur a reason to be in the bathroom with Alfred and came up with him being upset at his dad. Originally, he was just going to be annoyed poor Alfred had to be in Scotland for his birthday but then I reasoned he should have a better reason. And thus came Peter, the illegitimate kid. Poor thing.
> 
> It's set somewhere around Aberdeen because I've been to two weddings and the one for my cousin was in a hotel near there. It was very pretty. And I got to stay in my very own hotel room! The bed was amazingly comfortable. The wedding was cool, too - my cousin walked up the aisle to the Enterprise theme ("It's been a long time, getting from there to here.") and her groom had TARDIS cufflinks.
> 
> I'm getting off topic. I just figured it'd make sense for it in a hotel. And then I realised that they'd have gone back to their own room if they were staying there and so...
> 
> All this just to write what I had originally thought of for the kilts... (A blowjob, I mean. The rest of it came later.)


End file.
